


Winchesters Don't Float

by mrsgunsage



Category: IT - Stephen King, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child death referenced, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Crack!fic but maybe a tiny bit Crack-ish, The Author Regrets Nothing, This needed to happen because Winchesters Vs. Pennywise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsgunsage/pseuds/mrsgunsage
Summary: I am taking OMG so many liberties here with the source material of Stephen King’s novel IT.  But thanks to the new movie adaptation setting Part II in the current time, it’s gonna work so nicely for me to make this crossover possible.  :)PS - Also (IMO), Jensen Ackles would make an amazing Adult Ben for the 2nd movie!!!************************************************************************Mike Hanlon never lost his memories of IT and knew the supernatural existed.  He became a hunter, though he mostly stuck around the New England area so that he could remain close enough to Derry to get back quickly if IT ever re-emerged.  When the Losers’ second attempt at Pennywise goes sideways, a critically injured Mike calls in a favor from Dean Winchester.************************************************************************





	Winchesters Don't Float

”R-richie we have to…”

”NO!” The man’s voice is nearly hysterical, “We can’t leave him down here, Big Bill, Eds is afraid of the dark. He’s afraid and we can’t fucking leave him here in the dark!”

Bill shifts his catatonic wife in his arms; he’s bleeding and he knows he’s fading fast. Ben’s not in much better shape than Bill is, and Bev’s nursing a broken ankle. Neither of them can help carry Eddie out and Richie can’t do it alone with that sprained shoulder. With Mike in the hospital and Stan pulling his permanent no-show they are out of options for carting anyone out of the sewers. Bill doesn’t want to leave his oldest childhood friend in the dark with a monster he’s pretty sure isn’t dead, but his wife is still breathing and Eddie isn’t.

“R-r-r-r-ich… man I don’t want to leave h-h-im either, sw-sw-sw-swear to God. B-but you c-c-c-c-c-c-c FUCK! You c-c-c…”

Ben’s calm voice cuts in, “Richie, man, none of us want to leave him. But Billy’s got to carry his wife, I’m gonna have to help Bev get out of here cause her ankle’s broken, and you can’t carry him alone.”

Beverly is sniffling quietly but her voice is steady, “Richie, if we don’t leave we’re all gonna die. IT’s not dead. I don’t even know if IT went back to sleep or not…”

A punch to the stone wall cuts Bev off and then Richie’s muffled cursing, “MotherFUCKER that hurt…”

A match scratches and Ben’s handsome face is lit in the flame as he reaches for Richie’s hand to check it out. They can’t have many matches left, and none of their cells are still functional after the soaking they took, so light is at a premium.

Ben hands the flickering match carefully over to Bev, “OK, Richie, if Bev can do without me I’ll help you carry him out. If she can’t…”

Richie scrubs his hands down his face, “No, I get it. I do, fuck I’m sorry. I gotta at least try though…”

The match gutters out dropping the surviving Losers back into darkness. A scraping sound comes from the left causing them all to startle and gasp in a breath but Bev is quick to reassure them all, “I saw a loose pipe before the match went out. I’ll try leaning on it so you boys can carry Eddie.”

The trek out of the sewers feels like days, but it can’t have been more than an hour before Beverly is openly sobbing from the pain of the broken bones in her foot and ankle grinding as she hobbles along. Bill shifts Audra into a half-assed Fireman’s hold over his throbbing shoulder and wraps his free arm around Bev’s waist on her bad side, hoping he can help take some of her weight off the broken bones. They’re fighting a losing battle to get out, but he can’t suggest leaving Eddie’s body again.

Ben strikes another match so they can get their bearings and quietly mutters, “Only five left…”

Bill doesn’t recognize the section of sewer, but it still looks to be the ancient, crumbling stone tunnels they’d found closest to IT’s lair, not the smoother modern concrete that would herald their imminent escape.

Richie’s voice is resigned and pained, “We’re walking in fucking circles and we’re not gonna get out of here without Eds; he had the sense of fucking direction. Haystack built shit, Mikey was the brave one, Stan knew all the random fucking trivia we needed, Bev kept us together, I was the comic relief, and you were the strong one, Billy. None of us are playing our parts anymore and without Eds we are first-class fucked because I can’t get us out of here any more than I can fucking fly.”

No one disagrees, because they all know Richie is correct. Eddie had an inborn compass that saved their asses more than once as kids, especially in the sewer labyrinth and without him they are blind on how to find their way back out.

Richie sniffs loudly and Bill can hear the fabric swish as he swipes his sleeve across his face, “C’mon Haystack, I saw a dry alcove just ahead on the left before that last match went out. Help me get Eds all set up.”

There are several minutes of rustling noises as Richie clears the debris from the alcove he found. The sound of fabric tearing prompts Bev to ask, “Richie? What are you doing?”

Another sniffle and then Richie’s voice comes softly through the darkness, with none of its’ usual edge or attitude. “Bring ‘im over, Ben. I’m gonna bind his arm up, Bev. I know it’s pointless, but it’ll make me feel better.”

After a few grunts of effort, another match strikes and Bill can see his old friend lying peacefully, his remaining hand resting across his stomach and his ruined arm bound neatly in strips of Richie’s flannel over-shirt. The rest of the shirt is balled up under his head as a makeshift pillow. Ben leans down, taking Eddie’s glasses from his shirt pocket and sitting them neatly on the man’s still face. Bev limps over and painfully sinks to her knees, leaning over to speak quietly into Eddie’s ear before placing a chaste kiss on his slack mouth, her tears dripping down his pale cheek slowly.

Just as the match gutters out he sees Ben reaching down for her and he can’t help a spike of the old jealously thrumming through him, though he is quick to squash it.

”R-r-r-ichie, can you hold Audra for a minute s-so I can say my g-g-goodbyes?”

A hand on his shoulder lets him know where Richie is and he carefully transfers his wife to the other man’s uninjured shoulder so he can kneel down. In the pitch black, he has to fumble a moment to find the cold hand he is seeking, but he grasps it firmly.

”Eh-eh-eh _GODDAMNIT_! Eddie. Eddie, I am s-s-so suh-sorry. I n-never wanted to g-get you k-killed, man. I l-l-l- _FUCK_!” He’s sobbing but he can’t stop, not even to give himself time to try to stop the stutter. “ _I LOVED YOU_! Af-after Guh-Georgie died you were my o-only brother!”

Hands comes down on his shoulders. One small and delicate; Beverly giving what comfort she can. The other rough and strong; Ben giving him the strength to finish this.

”Eh-eds, you gotta h-h-help us, man. Give us some s-s-sign on how to get out. We’ll f-f-find a way to kill the fuh-fucker, I swear it. But we h-have to re-group first. We have to get ow-out. We still nuh-nuh-NEED YOU! _WE NEED YOU, EDDIE_!” 

Bill isn’t sure how long the Losers stay grouped around the body of their fallen friend in the silent blackness, maybe fifteen minutes or so but he suddenly feels like they need to backtrack to the last big tunnel intersection and go the other way. 

He gives a silent prayer up to God, or Maturin, or whatever other benevolent forces may be listening that this feeling is coming from Eddie and not from that motherfucker Pennywise setting them up for the final blow. 

But as Richie had said, they were first-class fucked, so even if it was IT trying to lure them back they had no other option but to take this hunch.

**************************************************************************

Sam looks out the window towards the lake, unsurprised to see his brother is still kneeling beside the smoldering pile of ashes that had been Cas’ funeral pyre. It’s been about three hours since the flames died off, but Dean hasn’t moved and Sam is starting to have legitimate concerns that his brother will never leave Cas. 

He’s been peeking out the windows with increasing frequency, because while he wants to give Dean time and privacy, he’s really starting to worry that his brother isn’t going to be able to get past losing his Angel forever. He’s afraid Dean’s next action is going to be eating a bullet because the thought of going to the Empty has to be less painful than seeing that blade ramming through Cas’ chest and the flash of his grace burning off and the ash of his broken wings on constant repeat like a fucking video loop his brain won’t stop showing. 

And Sam knows that is what Dean is experiencing because that is what HE is seeing every time his eyes close for even a second. He loved Cas exactly like he loves Dean and the pain is nearly enough to bring him to his knees; he can’t even begin to fathom how much worse his brother is suffering through this loss. Whether Cas and Dean ever admitted it to each other or not, Sam does not know; what he does know is that every single human, demon, angel, and creature that ever crossed paths with the Winchesters knew those two were in love with each other. Those two refusing to acknowledge their feelings didn’t mean those feelings didn’t exist. 

Sam is no stranger to a broken heart; Eileen’s death still rips at him brutally, and the mere thought of Jessica still brings tears to his eyes after all these years. But though he loved them both with every piece of his heart he doubts he would call either one his soul mate, and Sam has no doubt that is exactly what Castiel meant years back when he said he and Dean had a profound bond.

Jack comes up beside him and peers out, “He loved my father very much. His pain is nearly overwhelming.”

Sam nods, “He did, Jack; we both loved Cas deeply. Did you have enough time to say goodbye to your mother or do you need more?”

The teen tilts his head in a manner so eerily similar to Cas that Sam’s heart aches. “I have spent enough time with her earthly body and have wrapped her up as Dean did for my father, but she left me a note saying there was a message on her computer for me. Can you help me access this message?”

“Let’s take care of your mother’s funeral and then I’ll help you find her message, OK?”

Jack goes back up the stairs and returns a few moments later with Kelly’s body, wrapped into the bed sheets and tied off with some ribbons. The boy smiles, “I thought Mother would like the pretty colors more than just the plain white. I have memories of her shopping for things for me based on bright colors…”

Sam feels the first genuine smile he’s been able to muster in nearly eighteen hours slide across his face, “That is a good memory to have, Jack. Hold on to those good memories to remember her by when you miss her.”

“Do you have memories of my mother and father you can share with me? I have so very few of Father, I only connected with him twice before my birth and neither was a happy time…”

Those wide, blue eyes so earnestly looking at him cause another lash of pain to curl through Sam. He knows he’ll have an uphill battle with Dean over this because his brother won’t want to see anything of his Angel in the Devil’s kid, but those are Cas’ eyes. Not Jimmy Novak’s, not Nick’s, and definitely not Lucifer’s. Jimmy and Nick both had blue eyes, but neither had that pure, crystalline blue that Jack has. Lucifer’s eyes, from what Sam remembers of his time in Hell, were the ambery-orange of an open flame and Kelly’s were the deepest brown. No, Jack definitely has Castiel’s eyes.

Sam rakes in a deep breath, “I didn’t really get to know Kelly very well, but Cas was a good man, Jack. I don’t mean that in the sense of him being a good Angel, he was actually a pretty terrible Angel according to the rest of Heaven. No, he was a good man in the ways that really count. He was more than blind obedience and cold duty. He made mistakes, some of them really awful mistakes, but he cared enough to fix them. And to learn from them. He learned to feel human emotions, even when it got in the way of his mission. You’re here because of that. Heaven ordered him to kill your mother and he wouldn’t. He felt you were worth protecting, worth fighting and dying for.”

“So he loved me? I was able to feel Mother’s love constantly, it was warmth and happiness and every good thing that surrounded me, but I wasn’t sure if Father loved me or if he was only trying to protect Mother.”

Sam smiles again, “Yeah, Jack, I’m pretty sure that Cas did love you. He wouldn’t have gone against both Heaven’s orders and Dean without having really strong reasons.”

The boy visibly wilts, “Dean hates me. He’s the closest thing I have left of Father, but he hates me.”

Sam lays a gentle hand on the boys’ shoulder, “He hates Lucifer, Jack. Lucifer took Cas from him, and our mom. And right now that’s all he can see when he looks at you. He’s hurting and irrational, and I can’t promise he won’t lash out at you in anger right now because of that. But he will eventually see that you are more like Kelly. I’ve spent time with Lucifer and I don’t see anything of him in you at all. Dean’s just gonna need time to see that for himself.”

Sam picks his hatchet back up, “C’mon. Let’s go cut the wood to make your mom’s pyre. I’ll show you how to build it.”

Jack’s strength comes in handy, because Sam just keeps loading the kid down with logs. If they’re lucky they’ll only have to make two trips to have enough wood for Kelly’s pyre. Unfortunately, there isn’t a clear place on the other side of the house. They are going to have to get Dean to move so they can use the clearing for Kelly’s funeral, and Sam doesn’t know how his brother will handle that.

He motions for Jack to stay put for a second and approaches Dean, “Hey. We, uh, we need to take care of Kelly.”

Dean looks up at Sam, and there’s nothing left. The sparkling green eyes Sam has looked into for most of his life are completely empty. No life, no personality, nothing of Dean left at all. His brothers’ voice is flat and hoarse, “Burn the fucking house down around her for all I care, Sam.”

Sam squats down so he can lower his voice, “No. I won’t make you take part, but Jack deserves to give his mom a decent funeral, Dean.”

Dean reaches into the ash and pulls out a lump of soot. He brushes it off and Sam sees that it’s Cas’ blade. Dean must have wrapped it up with his body, but apparently the fire wasn’t hot enough to melt it.

“Dean, Cas would have wanted you to keep that…”

Dean rises and stalks off without a word or even so much as a glance back at Sam. He hears the door of the Impala open and then shut, but the engine doesn’t gun. Dean just can’t tolerate going back into the house where he’d said his final goodbyes to Cas.

Sam looks skyward and brushes a tear away, “Chuck, if you’re listening now would be an excellent time for you and Amara to come back from vacation. You told Dean the world would be OK because it had him, but he’s not gonna be OK without Cas.”

There’s no answer; Sam isn’t shocked because he didn’t expect one, but if God had ever wanted to prove He actually gave a fuck now would have been the time in Sam’s humble opinion.

He calls out for Jack to join him and starts to pull the few larger pieces of charred wood out of the way when something silvery catches his eye in the ashes. Reaching out he snags the little lump and brushes it against the leg of his jeans to remove the soot. When he sees what it is he can’t contain the sob that works out of his throat, just as Jack drops the stack of logs next to him.

“What is it, Sam? What is that?”

Sam holds the blackened metal up carefully for the boy to see, “It’s Dean’s ring. He must have put it on Cas before…”

Sam can’t finish the thought. He clears his throat forcefully and stands, starting to carefully construct Kelly’s pyre. He motions the boy to come hold certain pieces and explains how to keep the structure stable without having to take time to secure it. But the entire time, his thoughts are on Dean and the ring and the Angel who should have been his brother in law.

With Jack’s help it doesn’t take long to construct the pyre and the boy goes into the house to retrieve his mother’s body while Sam grabs a small can of gas and makes sure the Bic he’s carrying has enough butane to light properly. Once Kelly is carefully laid out on the platform, the pretty ribbons are arranged to Jack’s liking, and he carefully lays a bouquet of wildflowers he gathered for her over her heart, Sam hands the gas can to the boy and quietly talks him through spreading the fuel evenly.

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon by the time they’re done and Sam steps back from the logs.

”Chuck… into your hands we give the soul of Kelly. She was a brave woman, and a fiercely loving mother. Her last months here on Earth weren’t easy, so please give her peace in Heaven. Amen.”

He looks to Jack, who has a tear rolling down his cheek, “Do you have anything to say?”

Jack’s face contorts in a rare show of his emotion, but he smooths it back out quickly. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I wish you didn’t have to die just because I was born. I will try to be everything you hoped and wished for me to be, I promise.”

When Jack falls silent, Sam sparks the Bic and tosses it onto the logs. He wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulder and stands there silently as the boy watches his mother being consumed in the fire.

When the flames have died off enough that Sam doesn’t have to worry about the fire spreading he nudges Jack and motions to the house. “Let’s go get your mom’s computer and anything else you want to keep.”

Jack is far more composed than Sam, which he contributes to the kids’ angel DNA, “I really don’t have any attachments to the material objects, I just want Mother’s computer. I’ll get it and meet you at the car?” 

Sam walks slowly around the house to where the Impala waits. He can see Dean slumped over her wheel, but whether his brother is asleep, grieving, or praying to an absent Chuck is anybody’s guess. He opens the passenger door and slides in hoping against hope his brother is getting some rest, but deadened green eyes look up at him, red rimmed and watery.

“I can’t do this, Sammy.”

Dean’s usually gruff baritone is wavery and high. He sounds two seconds from breaking and Sam’s heart clenches painfully. “Want me to drive home?” 

It’s a shit offering of comfort, but it’s all Sam has right now. He’s much more emotionally stable than your average hunter, but he’s hitting his limits. He misses Cas desperately. He aches for his Mom. Fuck, he’s even saddened over Rowena and mourning for Crowley. And who would have thought that would come to pass? The King of Hell sacrificing himself to stop Satan himself; that Scottish bastard had his own brand of loyalty and nobility in the end, and Sam promises himself a shot of the really good shit they have back at the bunker in Crowley’s… no, in Fergus McLeod’s honor when they get home.

The back driver’s side door of the Impala opens and Jack slides in. The kid is much better than Cas had ever been at reading situations, because after a look at Dean’s face, he elects to just sit silently, looking out the window as if he were paying the brothers no mind. He has a backpack with him and Sam sees the edge of Kelly’s laptop where it isn’t fully zippered. He reaches over the bench seat towards Jack, “Here, let me see your mom’s computer and I’ll find that message for you.”

He quickly finds the video file with Jack’s name on it and plugs his own earbuds in so the boy can have some semblance of privacy. Once Jack is settled, he turns to Dean again, “Please, let me drive, Dean. Please try to sleep a little. I know you’re hurting, but he wouldn’t want you to fall apart like this.”

After a moment, Dean finally nods and exits the driver’s side of the Impala. Sam gets out and as the brothers cross paths in front of the car Sam reaches out and claps a hand onto Dean’s shoulder. He knows Dean won’t tolerate a hug right now, but this Dean allows and flashes him a look of gratitude for the physical comfort, no matter how small it may be.

The drive back towards Lebanon is silent other than the occasional clicking of keys from the laptop and the rumble of American Muscle under them. Sam offers to play some Metallica at one point but when the tape cues up on _Nothing Else Matters_ Dean reaches over and ejects it. Sam hears a few nearly silent sniffles after that, but Dean has turned his head into the window so his face isn’t visible.

They’re about six hours from the bunker when Dean’s phone rings. Watching from the corner of his eye, Sam sees Dean is about to deny the call with the same blank expression he’d had as he’d dismissed a half a dozen other calls when for the first time since everything had gone to shit, Dean’s eyes sharpened and his face took on an expression Sam knew all too well; his hunting face.

Dean motions Sam to pull over so he can hear the call over the roar of the Impala and answers it, “Hanlon? How the fuck are you man, it’s been like seven years…” Dean exits the car and leans his hip back against the partially open door so he can talk.

Sam glances up and sees the look of curiosity on Jack’s face as he watches Dean. If Sam needed any other convincing that the kid really has somehow taken Cas as his father instead of Lucifer, his instant, undying devotion to Dean was it. Even with Dean acting like a total motherfucker to the kid, he sees how Jack almost unconsciously tries to emulate the older man. He likes Sam just fine, which is miles better than Castiel’s initial cold aversion to him, but he adores Dean. Dean is too lost in pain and anger to give a fuck how the kid curls up like a kicked puppy with every sharp word, but it breaks Sam’s heart.

”You need a break, Jack? You need food, or to stretch your legs, or anything when we get to the next town?”

The boy smiles up at him in the rear-view, “No, I’m fine, Sam, thank you. But can we stop at a diner anyways? Dean is ignoring his hunger because of his emotional pain, but he needs to eat. I’m sure if we find a place that has pie and coffee he’ll at least have that, you can tell him I want to try milkshakes.”

Sam chokes back a sob for what feels like the millionth time in the last five days, “You are definitely not Lucifer’s kid, Jack. You are way too sweet and pure and innocent to be anything other than Cas’ son. Thank you for caring about Dean, even though he’s not in any place to return the favor right now.”

Jack’s face takes on an air of wisdom not usually seen on the very innocent boy for a moment, before the sunshiny smile returns, “Mother said, it’s MY choice, Sam. Not hers. Not Lucifer’s. Not even Father’s. It’s MY choice who I want to be. Right now, I just want to be Jack Winchester. I want to learn, and I want to be good. Since Father isn’t here I need you and Dean to help me with that, because you are Father’s family and that makes you my family.

Sam doesn’t even bother trying to check his crying this time, he just turns on the Impala’s bench seat and rises onto his knees so he can reach back and hug Jack. He needs it more than Jack does, but there is no denying the boy needs a hug after the last few days as well. He cards his hand roughly through the soft brown hair on Jack’s head once before pulling back to look the boy in the eyes, his hands gently framing Jack’s face.

“Yes, we are your family. It would be an absolute disservice to Cas’ memory to not raise you and love you like one of our own. Learning to control your powers is not gonna be easy though, Jack. Sometimes I might have to be hard on you, but it’s so you don’t accidentally hurt someone when you get overwhelmed. Understand?”

Jack places his hands over Sam’s wrists, “I do understand.”

A harsh exclamation from Dean and the pounding of his fist against the Impala’s roof breaks the moment between Sam and Jack. Dean slides back into the car and for the first time since Cas died there is a sense of purpose to him.

“Step on it, Sammy. We’re doing a drive-by at the bunker to repack our bags and re-supply, we’ve got to get to Maine as soon as possible. Preferably yesterday.”

Sam pulls back onto the road and accelerates smoothly, the Impala’s engine rumbling powerfully in the night. He watches Dean’s fist clenching and loosening rhythmically around the burner phone he’s holding, a look of intense concentration on his face, his eyes distant in a way Sam recognizes as Dean’s Battle Planning Face™.

When Dean continues to hold his silence, Sam finally turns his head slightly to catch his brothers’ attention and asks calmly, “Case?”

Dean’s jaw flexes and he nods, “Whatever it is he’s dealing with, it kills kids and nobody is even sure what it actually is. I owe him a favor, he’s calling it in.”

Sam nods and presses down harder on the accelerator, “I can get us to Lebanon in like 4 hours if we don’t stop for anything. What’s your time frame to be back on the road?”

Dean thinks for a moment, “Shower, shave, stock up, and out the door, man. Latest vic was 3 years old, we’re hauling ass.”

Dean turns to look into the back seat, “Do you want to stay at the bunker? You’re not a hunter, kid, and your powers are unreliable. I can’t guarantee your safety, which means I can’t guarantee the safety of the innocent people around you.”

Jack meets Dean’s eyes calmly, “I want to help. I’ll do what you say, I promise.”

Dean faces forward again, “Fine. But remember what I told you, if you go Darkside on us, I _will_ take you out.”

Sam sees Jack draw himself up in the backseat, his posture straight, but not aggressive, “I understand, Dean. I don’t want to hurt people, so I appreciate that you are prepared to stop me if needed.”

Dean does a slight double-take at the honesty in Jack’s voice, but quickly puts his angry face back on, “I’m glad we understand each other, Kid, “ he turns to his brother, “Step on it, Sammy. We got work to do.”


End file.
